We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**


46. Break - or not?


I'm not the kind of girl who softens up quickly after a fight. Unlike others who will call whoever they might have fought with within the next few hours, I need to spend some time by myself, alone in an empty apartment with no one else around. 

Dad has ever since I was eight told me that this is a bad habit, but I tend to overlook his words. I need to think things through before I contact the person I've been fighting with.

Even so, if it happens to be Harry. My Harry, with the captivating green in his eyes and the smile that every time he looks at me shows some kind of disguised but yet clear love.

Three days has past since the incident in his hotel room and I haven't seen him since. The other boys learned pretty fast that we had been in a bit of a fight, and sensing that I needed some time away from Harry, they kept us apart, which from my point of view can only be looked on as a smart move. If somebody forces me into speaking with him while I'm still hurt by our previous encounter, I will break down for sure. And this time, it won't be without tears.

Tonight, on the contrary, I will have to face Harry again. Another gig has to be played at the arena, and as a miserable employee in the band, I have to show up.

I flinch back when my message tone cuts through the thin air. Glancing down at my phone on the coffee table I regard the lit screen's message: "Babe, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. It feels like hell not seeing you. Xx."

I try to swallow an uncomfortable knot in my throat. Another text from Harry. 

I seize the phone and clutch it inside my hands. It's not that I'm mad at him, it's more the fact that he'd become so obsessed with figuring out what's going on behind his back with my mother and her Alzheimer's. I can't allow myself to be mad, really, because I kind of understand why he did what he did. I had been pushing it away for too long, denying that it would ever affect our relationship. 

The sound of heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs makes my attention seize towards the steps from where my father in the very same second appears in the doorway. He is wearing his grey line-patterned black suit again, a shiningly new laptop case slung over his shoulder. While walking over to me with a smile planted on his face, he adjust the length of its hem.

"Hi darling," he speaks and sits down in the couch beside me. "I have to go in for an evening meeting, but I'll be straight home afterwards, okay?"

I slowly nod at him as a way of telling him I've understood.

"Great then, I will see you afterwards!" He looks as if he's going to get up from his seat, but then he falls back into the cushions and puts a friendly arm around my shoulders. A cheeky, mocking smirk makes its way to his lips. "I was wondering if I would ever get to see the face of that Harry guy again? He's a nice, young fellow."

My fingernails dig into my thighs beneath the blanket wrapped loosely around my body. "I don't know," I end up declaring, eyes locked on the cellphone on the coffee table I haven't touched in hours, though new messages pop onto its screen every 45 minutes.

"Why not?" Suddenly my dad sounds worried, which makes good sense if you compare his tone to his furrowed eyebrows. He gently squeezes my shoulder. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

"I really don't wanna talk about it." I bite my lip to keep myself from saying more. Shaking my head, I wave him off.

"Gabrielle, I'm your dad, you can tell me anything and I will do nothing else than try to help you," he silently soothes me.

"It's more a girlfriend-talk than a dad-talk."

"I understand that, Gabby. I do, all right?"

It's like his talk finally convinces me that I have to speak with him. Being my dad, there's a few things he probably only wants to help me with, so maybe he somehow actually can help me sort this whole situation out.

"Harry found out about mom."

He stares at me for a second, eyes bright. Then a thought seems to slip into his mind. "You know what? I think you should talk things out with him. I can only imagine how desperate he must be for your attention right now."

After a moment of consideration I ask, "Should I call him?"

"Defiantly," he replies with a smile. "I wouldn't loose something before I'm sure it's truly lost." 

My dad raise to his feet, dropping a kiss on my hair as he does. "I have to get going. I hope it all works out for you lovebirds."

"Don't call us that!" I cringe. The old nickname still doesn't fall very much in my taste. I get up from the couch and put my arms around him. "Thank you, though. I really appreciate it." I smile into his chest and pull out of the hug.

Dad starts towards the hall. "You're welcome, my love! See now how it isn't very difficult to talk about girl problems with your dad? We should do it more often!" he loudly concludes with a smooth grin. I crinkle my nose at the thought. That's defiantly going to be a no from me this time...sorry dad, you're outvoted. One time of you giving me advice on boys is more than enough.

As soon as the door behind him has slammed shut and the well-known sound of the lock function clicking in place is heard, I grasp the phone on the coffee table and dial the number tattooed in my brain's memory in on the display. 

Only two dial tones sounds before I reckon him picking up my call. Harry must've kept his cellphone close to him.

"Hey, it's me. You need to come over."




A hesitating, soft knocking sounds from the front door. I get up from the dining table with doubting thoughts in mind. The only person I truly desire to meet me on the flat's front step would have to be that very special someone with curly hair and large hands always stuffed away in his skinny jeans' pockets.  

I gather myself together and start to the entrance hall, slowly letting the door creak open.  

Harry is standing there in the wide open doorway, his expression as rough as the grey weather on the sky behind his back. As soon as he sees me, he draws me into his arms. 

"Babe, I'm so, so sorry. I should never have acted the way I did," he sorrowfully whispers in my ear. His hand trails to the back of my head, gently caressing my hair in longingly strokes. "Can you forgive me?"

"Do you honestly think that I would have wanted you to come if I hadn't?"

Harry's hands move to the side of my head. Pulling out of the embrace, our heads are less than inches from each other. The green eyes peer into mine with a sudden spark of alarmed delight. Yet he doesn't smile when he leans in and smashes his lips onto mine. The situation is of a way too serious matter. 

My arms lock around his neck, my hands ruffling up his curly hair and pulling him deeper into the kiss that quickly develops into pure passion. Something in my heart flutters, and for a moment I'm quite sure I forget everything about my mother, the only thing on my mind now that I'm back with Harry, safe in his arms.

Then I realize that I've been overlooking the one thing that possibly matters the most.

"Harry," I abruptly break away, my breath catching in my throat. I lift my gaze to his face only to learn that he's already regarding me. "If you want to, you can come see her. My mom, I'd like you to meet her." 

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